


In Austria's House

by KellerProcess



Category: Hetalia: Axis Powers
Genre: Gen, Multi
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-18
Updated: 2013-09-18
Packaged: 2017-12-26 23:51:24
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,045
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/971755
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/KellerProcess/pseuds/KellerProcess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Chibitalia is a little food thief. Austria is not amused. (Although this fic has Holy Roman Empire pining for Chibitalia and Austria getting blushy about Hungary, it's really more of a gen fic.) Written in 2010 for the Hetalia Sunshine exchange for an anon named Hildegard.</p>
            </blockquote>





	In Austria's House

The child was foraging like a squirrel again. For the third time that day—and just two hours after Austria had lectured her about proper etiquette and the deliciousness of schweinsbraten, semmelknödel dumplings and cabbage salad! At breakfast, Italy’s behavior was mildly irritating. At luncheon, it was frustrating. And at 2:00 p.m. Austria had decided that it deserved a good, thorough scolding, and perhaps a spanking. In just a few steps, he closed the distance between the back door of his elegant house and the trash bin.

At the sound of his footsteps, Italy pivoted, her big brown eyes wide and a guilty blush on her face. She held the remains of Holy Roman Empire’s apfelstrudel, a confection she adored to the detriment of her waistline and which Austria had explicitly banned from her meals.

“A—Austria—” the girl stammered, hiding the pastry behind her skirts as if this would make everything better. Austria knew little of children, save for the fact that nothing they did made sense; surely, he had never been one, he often remarked to Hungary. Italy wailed as he grabbed one pudgy little arm and hauled it back into sight.

“Drop it,” he scolded as he shook the girl’s arm. In seconds, the crumbling pastry fell from her sticky little fist into the dust.

“I’m sorry! I’m sorry!” the child wailed, tears leaking down he chubby cheeks. “Please don’t hurt me! I’m sorry!” A firm poke to he nose, however, shut he up like magic. Whimpering now, she stared up at the towering Nation, who sighed as he adjusted Vienna on the bridge of his elegant nose.

“I am so tired of correcting you, Italy.” Austria felt as tired as he sounded. “Turkey and the damned Protestants are giving me enough to manage right now without your disobedience.”

“But I’m hungry,” Italy whined.

“And what is wrong with my nice semmelknödel and cabbage salad?”

The young Nation rubbed he stomach. “It tastes yucky.”

Austria sighed again, fighting down the urge to kick his boot into the girl’s soft behind. Instead, he snatched her up by the collar.

“Aah!”

“Oh, be quiet!” Austria snapped. “I’m not going to beat you, though you certainly deserve it.” Instead he carried the girl up to the usual broom closet on the third floor and pushed her inside.

“You will stay here and think about your disobedience. And there will be no supper for you tonight.”

“No supper?!” Tears trembled in Italy’s big brown eyes.

“Since you do not enjoy my dumplings or my meat, I hardly think this will be an imposition.”

Italy started to protest again, but Austria slammed the door on her and turned the key. Retreating down the hall with his hands upon his hips, he did his best to ignore the little Nation’s tears.

Really, Italy had to learn some self-restraint.

~*~

After supper, Austria sat at his desk with a glass of fine Italian wine (little fool though Italy was, her people were quite good at this sort of thing). The documents before him contained the usual exhausting news. Taking a calming sip, Austria turned through them. The states and free imperial cities were jostling as they always did; the people were becoming Lutheran heretics by the hundreds; and, of course, Turkey was making his usual threats. Austria’s fist clenched around the wineglass; he would never forgive the nation for what he had done to Hungary.

“Um … Austria?”

Austria shook himself from his reverie to find Holy Roman Empire staring at him from the doorway, his hat dangling from his hands.

“Yes?”

“May I come in and ask you something?”

Had it been any other Nation or province but his charge (or Hungary, he found himself admitting), he would have promptly slammed the door in his or her face. But the blond child was his responsibility--in a way, he was the closest thing to a father figure the boy had. In a way. So, Austria inclined his head and indicated the chair opposite his desk.

With nothing but a little difficulty, Holy Roman Empire clambered onto the plush seat. He then sat there, staring at his hands as his thumbs chased each other until Austria found his impatience rising.

“Well, what is it?”

“Um…” Holy Roman Empire’s cheeks reddened like apples. “Uh…”

“Yes?” Austria asked archly. Really, the child could be as frustrating as Italy sometimes!

“Uh, it’s just that—you’re sort of my boss, right? And you said if I ever had problems, I should come to you, right?”

“Yes, yes. Only please stop dithering and tell me what is the matter!” When Holy Roman Empire flinched, Austria rose and came around his desk to kneel at the boy’s height. “I apologize. I merely meant that I cannot help you if you don’t tell me what is wrong.”

The boy’s body relaxed. “Well, all right. Austria, lately I’ve had a funny feeling in my tummy.”

Austria frowned. “Are you ill?” He touched his knuckles to Holy Roman Empire’s cheeks. He did not feel feverish.

Holy Roman Empire shook his head. “No. I thought so too, at first. So I went to the court doctor, but he said I was fine. And then I went to Miss Hungary, because she always has answers and she’s really smart!”

Austria felt his own cheeks reddening. “Yes,” he agreed absently. “Yes, she is—most capable.” He removed the handkerchief from his sleeve and dabbed at his forehead. “Ah—it’s very warm in here. Are you warm, too?”

Holy Roman Empire shrugged. “She asked me to describe how the tummy ache felt, so I said it felt like there were butterflies in it. Or maybe bunnies. And I also said that I felt kind of weak and hot and sort of dreamy when it happened.”

Austria nodded. “Where, exactly, is this going, Holy Roman Empire?”

“Sorry. I told Miss Hungary this and she got really serious and asked me if this happened around a special person and I said it happened around I—around someone. And she laughed and said that what I’m feeling is love. I didn’t really understand how a tummy ache and feeling sweaty was love, and she winked at me and said I should come ask you because you knew all about it.”

Austria gulped and fought to maintain his composure. That little—of course. Hungary would be the only one in his house to know this was not a proper conversation to have, and have it anyway.

“Ye—es,” he said evenly. “I see.”

“So, am I in love, or is it just gas?”

“Holy Roman—”

The boy fidgeted. “Because sometimes gas makes me feel that way, too. Only not around I—a special person. Though it would be embarrassing to have it around her,” he added, almost as an afterthought.

Austria sighed. “I think that you’re too young to be thinking about such things.”

Holy Roman Empire folded his arms over his chest. “I’m old enough to fight wars! So I’m old enough to know about love! Anyway, Miss Hungary says that war is just like making love, because men get really loud and sweaty doing both,” he insisted.

Austria spluttered, attempting to say several things at once. “Never mind what Miss Hungary says!” he managed at last. Trying to calm himself, he placed his hands on the boy’s narrow shoulders. “This isn’t an appropriate conversation anymore, and it’s very late.” He smiled. “Now, why don’t I get you a glass of milk, tuck you in, and tell you a nice story?”

“Not the one about the stupid Babenberg family again!” the child snorted, rolling his eyes. “The stupid family tree always puts me to sleep.”

“Well, that is the idea. But very well. Would you rather hear me play the violin instead?”

Holy Roman Empire actually smiled. “Would I ever!”

~*~

After three concertos, his charge was snoring soundly with the dog next to his pillow. Putting his violin aside, Austria smiled and kissed the boy’s head before removing the empty glass of milk from the nightstand. As he made his way down to the kitchens, he thought about waking Hungary to wash it and promptly dismissed the notion. It was just one glass, and he was not such an aristocrat that he could not attend to it himself—no matter what that unsophisticated lout Prussia said!

“Yes, take that, Prussia,” Austria muttered as he dipped his hands into the water barrel.

Immediately, what seemed like a cabinet’s worth of pans crashed to the floor behind him, as if in response.

Austria knew he was not the strongest Nation, but seizing a sizable meat cleaver from a drying rack he pivoted, ready to fight the intruder. It was his house, after all, and no one would threaten the Nations within it!

No one, not even, Turkey or Prussia or—

“Italy?”

The little Nation looked up from the mess of pots and pans she had just apparently overturned. “I’m sorry. Don’t be mad,” she sniffled, and in seconds she was crying.

“What in the world?” Aware that he probably looked less than friendly with a cleaver in hand, Austria put the implement back in the rack. “How did you escape?”

“B—big sister Hun—Hungary let me out,” Italy bawled. “She said that I’d been in that scary closet too long and you were being unreasonable!”

Yes, she would say that. Austria ran his hand over his forehead. “And why,” he asked as calmly as he could, “have you strewn pots and pans all over the floor?”

Italy bawled harder, making her answer difficult to decipher. After several tries, Austria got her to calm down enough to say, “Looking for pasta. I – I was just looking for pasta! I’m sorry, please don’t hurt me!”

Austria had, indeed, raised his foot to stomp on Italy’s behind. But the terror in the girl’s face made him hesitate, then slowly lower it again. “Italy… are you really that afraid of me?”

“Mhm…” the child whimpered. And then, her stomach growled. As Austria leaned down she closed her eyes and shuddered, as if anticipating a blow—then gasped as the older Nation hugged her.

“I’m sorry,” Italy sobbed again. “I won’t do it again, I promise.”

“No,” Austria soothed, one slender hand in that mess of brown hair. “No, Miss Hungary was right; I have been quite harsh.”

“Ve?” The little Nation pulled back and stared at him as if he had just offered her free pasta. Her stomach rumbled again.

And come to think of it… “I suppose you cannot go without an evening meal. I will make some of your spaghetti, Italy—but on one condition,” he added as the girl’s mouth widened in surprise. “You give my schweinsbraten and semmelknödel dumplings another try, and teach yourself to like my food just as much.”

“Just as much?” Italy sighed. “All right.”

As Austria cooked the spaghetti, he sat Italy upon the counter and let her watch the water boil, the sharp knife pare Spain’s tomatoes and chop the sweet basil. As the sauce simmered, he held the girl up and let her spice it as she pleased. As Italy gobbled down the still-steaming meal, Austria poured himself another glass of wine and told the girl not to gobble if she didn’t want a tummy ache. When plate and glass were cleaned, Austria dipped them into the tub to soak overnight. He would have helped Miss Hungary by scouring them thoroughly, but it was already getting late, and he had much more reading to finish.

“Can I sit up with Austria?” Italy asked as she climbed the stairs after he master.

Sighing, Austria scooped her up. “Well, yes. But only for a little while. Remember, you and Miss Hungary have morning chores.”

“Not too late,” Italy promised. And she was quite true to he word. No less than five minutes after the girl clambered onto the settee in the office with a promise to stay awake and watch the important things Austria was doing, the master of the Holy Roman Empire glanced up to find her curled up asleep, thumb in her mouth.

Austria paused in his reading just long enough to smile and fetch a blanket for the child.


End file.
